


The Angel Room: An Interlude

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel (brief appearance) - Freeform, Dean Winchester (brief appearance) - Freeform, Episode: s14e07 Unhuman Nature, Gen, Interview with an Angel, Sam Winchester (brief appearance) - Freeform, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 12:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: This entry is a break from the typical format and content of "The Angel Room," but it felt ... right, and important to submit.It takes place after Makael has spoken to Rowena and after the events of "Unhuman Nature."Makael decides she needs to see Jack for herself, and in the process reveals more of her story.





	The Angel Room: An Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> _**The Context:**_  
>  Everything is changing.
> 
>  _The Angel Room_ started as a way for seraphim Makael, a refugee from the Supernatural universe, to keep track of events after Michael’s arrival from Apocalypse World.
> 
> Makael has always been good at keeping to herself. It’s why she survived the intra-angel conflicts after the Great Fall. So it makes sense that when Michael arrived and started tracking down angels, Makael decided that it was time to find a new universe to call home. Using the spell that, years ago, propelled the Winchesters into an alternate universe, Makael was ready to make a new life for herself in ours. A quiet life. A human life, much like the one she had lived after the Fall.
> 
> Then she discovered _Supernatural_.
> 
> She told herself it was boredom, that it was curiosity, that it was about immersing herself the very human phenomenon of fandom, which prompted her to start pulling characters into our universe for interviews after each new episode of Season 14 aired.
> 
> But now she’s realizing that it’s more than just interviews. It’s more than just about experiencing humanity through fandom. And it’s much, much more than simple curiosity. Makael is discovering that she _cares_ , which is a very disconcerting realization for an angel who’s always put self-preservation above all else.
> 
> She worries about what’s happening to the people she’s interviewing. She’s preoccupied with their well-being and with their struggles. She cares about their survival.
> 
> Which, in her estimation, doesn’t bode well for her own.
> 
> What does this mean for _The Angel Room_? For Makael herself? As of yet, it’s all very unclear. The only thing that is clear? _Everything is changing._
> 
>  
> 
>  _ **The Setting:**_  
>  The lighting is dark, but from what we can see, Makael is _not_ in _The Angel Room_. She is making her way rapidly down a set of concrete stairs, her hand running lightly along the top of a plain metal railing. Overhead a quarter of the moon shines brightly in a cold sky. Makael comes to a halt in front of a large metal door, which is very familiar-looking to anyone who watches Supernatural.

_**The Interlude:**_  
“ _You can do this._ ”

Makael lets out a deep breath, then repeats to herself, “You can do this.” She pulls out a key, inserts it into the lock and twists. A click sounds, and a smile flits across her face.

With another steadying breath, she pulls the heavy door open and tucks the key away, patting the pocket and murmuring, “Thank you, Mr. Ketch.” She purses her lips, and adds, “Not that you know that it’s missing.”

She shrugs to herself, then steps through the doorway. Immediately, her shoulders tighten and she winces. She backs out, and reaches to pull a knife from her boot. With quick precision, she draws the blade across her hand, then kneels at the threshold, and paints several symbols just inside the doorway.

“Come on,” she mutters as she cleans the blade and slips the knife back into her boot.

After a moment, the symbols flare an orangish-red, and then the light subsides.

“Okay. Now, let me in.” Makael takes another steadying breath, then tries crossing the threshold again. This time, a grin flashes across her face. "I got it right! Go me,” she murmurs as she hauls the door shut behind her. It groans loudly on its hinges, causing her to wince for another reason entirely.

Almost absently, Makael presses her uninjured hand to her bleeding palm. Muted white-blue light flares as she makes her way down a tightly twisting metal staircase. By the time she hits the last stair and a second door, her palm is healed.

This one groans when she starts to push it, too.

“One would almost think they have something against WD-40,” she mumbles, then whispers something in Enochian. When she pushes the door again, it opens the rest of the way silently, and Makael steps out onto the landing that looks over the War Room in the Winchester’s bunker. Her eyes widen, and a delighted smile crosses her face. “Oh, wow,” she breathes. “ _Wow._ ”

She sobers quickly, however, and makes her way softly down the stairs, her expression alert. There are raised voices coming from the kitchen area, so Makael skirts through the library, her eyes wide as she takes in the many volumes that line the walls and shelves. Cautiously, she opens the door to the right of the telescope at the end of the room, and slips into the hallway, hugging the wall.

After a few minutes of navigating, Makael comes to a halt in front of a wooden door with a brass number twenty-two on it, along with the Men of Letters’ Aquarian star. The door is slightly ajar, but Makael hesitates before she pushes it open the rest of the way.

On the bed lays Jack, his face pale and his eyes closed, his breath rasping in the silence. As Makael steps into the room, his eyes slit open. A slight frown crosses his face.

“Makael.” His voice is hoarse, and his brow creases before he offers her a faint smile. “What are you doing here?”

Makael steps into the room and shuts the door most of the way behind her. “I came to check on you,” she says softly, her expression full of grief and concern. “Why are you by yourself?” She frowns, surveying the room as if she expects Sam or Dean to step out of some unlikely hiding place. “You shouldn’t be by yourself.”

Jack lets out a huff of air; it’s the best he can muster for a laugh. “Dean picked a fight with Cas over something little, and the two of them stormed out. He’s just frustrated because they can’t save me.” He coughs, weakly. “There’s … there’s air.”

Makael’s eyes alight upon the oxygen mask he gestures to, and she moves quickly to pick up the mask. With an efficient, light touch, she brings the mask to Jack’s face and slips the elastic band around the back of his tousled head, then turns on the machine. Its soft hum fills the small room.

Jack sucks in the air and smiles gratefully up at Makael. After a moment, he continues, “I told Sam to leave. They need him more than I do right now. He’s good at being a peacemaker.” His voice is slightly muffled by the plastic mask. He closes his eyes momentarily, and then frowns again. “How did you get inside the Bunker? You need a key … and it’s warded against angels … except for Cas.”

Makael sits in the chair that’s been drawn up next to the bed. The seat is still warm; she must have just missed Sam. “I located Ketch and stole his key.”

Jack’s eyes widen.

“I mean, he wasn’t there when I stole it. So it wasn’t that impressive. I just portaled in and out. And I figured that if Castiel could be in the Bunker, there had to be some way of letting certain angels in while keeping the rest out. There are only a few spells that can do that. So I narrowed them down to the most likely, and I was lucky enough to have the first one work. Helped that they’re all blood magic. And Enochian.”

She holds out her hand and allows angelic light to flare from it.

“I was hoping … would you permit me to … look? I know Castiel has already examined you, but …”

Jack says nothing, merely nods, squinting against the light, before he closes his eyes again. His skin is greyish, and Makael bites the inside of her cheek to fight back the tears that are threatening as she leans over the bed and searches his ravaged body with her grace.

When she’s done, she’s lost the battle with the tears.

“It’s all right.”

Makael looks up sharply as Jack speaks. His eyes are still closed, his lips are barely moving.

“You can’t fix me, but that’s all right. I figured if Cas couldn’t … I appreciate that you wanted to. That you risked coming here, when you’ve been so afraid …”

“Shh.” Her voice shakes as she hushes Jack. “You need to conserve your strength.”

Jack opens his eyes. Makael has seen humans with the look held in his eyes before, that look that says that they have one foot out the door already, and it nearly undoes her all over again. Instead, she forces a smile, and holds her hands out again.

“May I?” she asks. He nods, and she places her hands over his chest as his eyes close wearily.

The light from her palms glows again, and Makael’s pupils flare an icy blue before she closes them. She stays that way, motionless, for several moments, the only movement the rise and fall of her hands as Jack breathes. Finally, the light fades, and she sits back.

Jack’s eyes open again. He takes an experimental breath, then smiles at Makael.

“Better?”

“Yes.” His smile widens.

“It’s only temporary, but—”

“Thank you.” He reaches for the mask, and fumbles with it.

She helps, pulling it off and turning off the machine.

“Cas has exhausted himself doing that. I told him to stop.”

Silence descends over the room again, deeper, somehow, than it was before.

“Jack, I'm—”

“Don’t.” Jack takes Makael’s hand and squeezes it. “Everyone’s sorry, and I hate it. I hate how much people are blaming themselves for this. It’s not anyone else’s fault except Lucifer’s. And he’s dead. So what’s the point in being angry about it?”

Makael looks away, her expression full of sorrow.

“I actually have a question for you.”

Makael’s surprise shows on her face. “You do?”

“Yes.” Jack smiles at her surprise. “When I was talking with Dean about his visit with you—”

“You talked to Dean about our interview?”

“Yes.” When Makael simply stares, Jack adds, “I think you’re interesting.”

Makael lets out a huff of laughter. “Thank you?” She makes it a question.

Jack's smile widens before he becomes abruptly serious. “So Dean said that you told him that not all seraphs were warriors. You said, ‘Some of us had other purposes. Other reasons for being.’ I would … like to know what yours was. Will you tell me?” His question is posed softly, respectfully.

A long silence follows his question. Then Makael says, very quietly, “Yes.”

Jack waits.

“I was part of the heavenly choir,” she says, her voice full of many things besides words.

“Heaven has a choir?” Jack is startled by the revelation.

“ … had.” Makael grimaces. She begins to speak again, low, and with reverence. “‘I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: with two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another: _Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory._ At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.'”

“That’s … beautiful. What is it?”

“It’s scripture. An approximation, based on human perception, but it captures something of who we were.”

“And your whole reason for being was to … sing?” Jack’s expression is a mixture of confusion and wonder.

“To sing to _him_ ,” Makael corrects, gently. “Yes. That was what those of us who were part of the heavenly choir were designed to do.”

Jack thinks for a moment. “That …” He hesitates, then says carefully, “That seems a little … egotistical of him.”

Makael lets out a soft laugh. “You’d think so, right?” She shakes her head, and her own voice fills with awe. “But it wasn’t. It was … right. God—God as we knew him, before he became Chuck? You wouldn’t be thinking that if you could have seen him then.”

She leans forward slightly, a smile tracing its way across her face, lighting her eyes. “We were angels, Jack. And not just any angels, but one of the highest orders of angels: seraphim. And _we_ couldn’t look at him: he was that glorious. That … uncontainable. Unfathomable. Fierce. Beautiful. Wild. He was so very worthy of our praise.”

Her voice is earnest, her whole body intent, as she speaks. And then her expression falters, and she leans back.

“And then he left us.” She hugs herself, as if she is suddenly cold. Her expression twists, turns bitter as she continues. “Not much use for a choir that sings God’s praises when God has left the building.”

Makael starts when Jack takes her hand again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have asked. This is causing you pain.”

Makael forces a smile. “No, it’s … it’s actually good to talk about it. I haven’t said any of that out loud … well, not since I Fell. I … most of the other angels—it’s not like they adjusted well. All you need to do is look at the ruins of heaven to know that _none_ of us adjusted well. But at least they still had a purpose. They were warriors, and there was still evil to fight. But when your whole reason for being is to sing—that’s just not very useful. You know?”

She flashes a quick smile at Jack, who looks thoughtful.

“I think,” he says after a moment, “that it’s very useful.”

Makael raises her eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yes.” He nods firmly. “There’s a power in singing, in bringing something beautiful like that into the world. If this world had no music, it would be a lot … bleaker. A lot darker. Making something beautiful in the face of evil … that’s important. That’s powerful.”

“ … I never thought of it like that before.”

Jack squeezes Makael’s hand again before letting it go. “Would you sing to me?” he asks, simply.

Makael’s lips part in a silent “Oh.” Then she says, “I’ve never sung in this vessel before.” She shakes her head. “I haven’t sung since he left.” She looks at Jack anxiously. “It would sound different in this vessel. I don’t know if you’d enjoy it—if I can make the right sounds.”

“Would you try?” His smile is sweet and impossible to say no to.

Makael nods. “All right.” She takes an anxious breath, lets it out slowly, and then draws another breath, that’s both deeper and steadier. And she begins to sing.

Her voice is low and sweet, and as she sings Jack relaxes back against the pillow, smiling.

She sings in Enochian, the words flowing smoothly from her lips. It’s a song of adoration: the only kind of song she knows how to sing. And as she sings, she finds the recipient of her song is not unworthy of the words it offers. She watches as Jack’s pinched face smooths; as his breathing evens and deepens; as the trace of a smile remains even as he falls into a deep, restful sleep.

She sings on until something makes her pause, and she hears the faint sound of voices heading in their direction. She rises to her feet, resting her hand briefly over Jack’s heart.

“Thank you,” she whispers, even though he’s sleeping so deeply she doubts it will register.

Then she slips quickly and quietly from the room.

Moments later, the door opens, and Castiel, Sam, and Dean file in. Castiel pauses just inside the door and tilts his head, scanning the room, as Sam slips back into the chair that Makael vacated moments earlier. He’s so focused on Jack that he doesn’t notice that the seat is still warm. He leans in close, listening to Jack’s breathing.

When he straightens, Sam’s smiling. “He’s breathing better than he was when I left,” he murmurs. “And he’s actually sleeping.”

“That’s great,” says Dean, who’s watching Cas curiously. “Hey, guys, am I crazy or did it sound for a second like someone was singing when we were on our way back?”

**END SCENE.**


End file.
